


your love was worth it's wait

by melk24



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Festivus, M/M, feelings talk, mention of road tripping, mention of the dallas stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:18:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5629498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melk24/pseuds/melk24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack invites them all in for the break.</p>
<p>“For Festivus,” Shitty explains, which, like everything Shitty does, explodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your love was worth it's wait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Samille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samille/gifts).



> a gift for samille! the prompt was "a sweet get-together fic", and i hope you enjoy! i'm very sorry it's a little late - i haven't had my laptop for the past week, and was just now able to post this. however, i still hope your holidays were wonderful!
> 
> as always, thanks to [rhia](http://drafteichelfirst.tumblr.com) for the read-through and allowing me to scream at her about jack zimmerman
> 
> title from "georgia" by vance joy.

Jack invites them all in for the break.

Well - Shitty texts them all the minute his classes are over screaming about how he has to get the ‘fuck out of this pretentious hotbed’, and Jack responds with an offer of his tickets for the Dallas game the next day, which spirals into them staying with him for a while until his parents get in.

Which is how Bitty ends up in a car with Lardo and Chowder, with Ransom and Holster trailing. It’s fine, anyways, because all Bitty’d been doing was fucking around on campus with Lardo, helping her put the finishing touches on one last sculpture before they both have to jet. It’s not hard to rearrange his schedule just a little bit, and it’s not like they live that far away. So - Providence it is. 

“For Festivus,” Shitty explains, which, like everything Shitty does, explodes.

Jack doesn’t know what Festivus is, exactly, which launches into an in-depth discussion of Seinfeld and American television, and dragging Jack for a lack of pop culture, before finally settling on a team insistence that Jack’s house (“Apartment,” Jack corrects, “and kinda a shitty one, at that.” Nobody cares.) gets broken in for Festivus. 

They get in just in time for the game, and Shitty’s waiting for them in the parking lot, wearing his own jersey and a Falconers hat. There’s lots of screaming. 

“Bits!” Shitty literally sweeps him off his feet, scooping him into the air after already having given Lardo the same treatment. “Man, I’ve fucking missed you, I’ve been living of instant ramen and takeout for the past, like, three months, I think I’m going to die.”

He laughs, and only slightly clutches at Shitty’s shoulders as he’s returned to the ground. “Well, you just let me know when you need something shipped, alright? I’m sure I can stock a lovely care package for you.” Shitty doesn’t even flinch away from his face pat, and Bittle beams. “Law school treating you alright?”

“As well as it can, I suppose,” Shitty shrugs, wrapping an arm around Bitty’s shoulders as they walk. “You know, it's Harvard. About what you'd expect.”

Ransom is already snorting slightly when he comes around on Shitty’s other side. “You learned how to bend and snap yet, or is that later?”

Lardo plucks Chowder’s brand new Falconers hat off his head and throws it in front of Shitty’s feet. “Come on, you fucker,” she crows, “let us see what you got!”

Bitty extricates himself as is appropriate, darting over to stand with Lardo. “Y’know,” he murmurs, watching as Shitty executes a weirdly perfect bend and snap to the cheers of Ransom and Holster, “I thought it'd be different.”

Lardo shoots him a look that clearly says he's crazy. “It's only been a few months, Bits. They're both still our guys. Now come on,” she digs dull nails into his forearm, “we’re gonna miss the opening faceoff at this rate.”

Jack had offered them box seats, but there's no fun in watching from a box, not when he can swing them glass seats. It's not that hard in Providence, apparently, and even once it gets closer to game time, Bitty barely sees anyone in the whole rink. It's probably better that way, because Holster had remembered the “Marry Me, Jack Zimemrman” poster from the Haus and was waving it like his life depended on it.

Bitty can't really fault him, though - he screams just as loud as the rest of them when Jack skates by during warm ups. He doesn't look up during his first lap, but Bitty can see the corners of his mouth twitch up anyways. He's 51 on the Falconers, and it's weird at first, following a different number, but they all warm to it pretty fast. It makes the 1 on Bitty’s back feel heavier though, the old game-worn jersey suddenly turning a little distant from the man on the ice. 

Jack skates up to them, though, grinning through his visor. It's weird not to see him in a cage, but Bitty pounds the glass all the same, laughs when Jack rolls his eyes. “Jay-Z, man,” Shitty’s screaming next to him, “I'm your biggest fucking fan, score a goal for me!”

He's not sure if Jack can even hear them, but he ducks his head anyways, eye roll more prominent this time. They're all laughing, hard enough Bitty almost misses it when Jack flips a puck over the glass. Chowder’s the one that catches it - goalie reflexes, or something - stopping it from slamming directly into Bitty’s face. 

“Here,” he hands the puck to Bitty softly, “Jack pointed, so-”

“Oh.” He takes it easily, because it's just a puck, it's nothing, nothing special, but when he looks up to thank Jack, maybe chirp him again, he's gone. 

Shitty’s pouting. “He knows I'm his biggest fan, right?” He digs his elbow into Bitty’s side. “Uncool, dude. Using your dashing good looks to steal my one chance to become a puck bunny.”

“I'm sure you'll have plenty more,” Lardo grins, eyebrows wiggling. “Don't give up on your dreams, Shitts. We all believe in you.”

“Personally,” Holster leans across three people, digging his elbows into Bitty’s thighs, “I think you have the best chance with Ransom. He's weak for the flow.”

“And you're not?” Shitty scoffs loudly, but falls silent the minute the on-ice projection starts up. (Which, seriously. So cool.)

It's a good game, as far as games go. Bitty cheers until he can barely feel his throat, and even though a late goal from Jack manages to push the game to overtime, the Falconers still lose. It's a little disappointing, but Shitty pulls the sign out again as the rink is emptying, and a couple of Jack’s teammates crack a few smiles, so. Bitty’s not about to complain. 

They're meeting Jack in the parking lot, and they take their time with it. “Hey,” Holster comes up to Bitty’s right side, shoving him gently. “Want a ride?”

Lardo cheers. “Piggyback race to the car, fuckers! I call Shitty.”

“Yo, dude,” Shitty’s laughing already, halfway up the steps out of the lower bowl, “you want me to break my spine? They'll still make me take my fucking exams, you know.”

Lardo waves her hand, and Bitty laughs. “Those aren't until the end of the year, right? You'll heal, man. Let's fucking go!”

He misses whatever Shitty does next when Holster swings him onto his back, and it's all Bitty can do to loop his arms around Holster’s neck, shrieking with laughter. When he looks over, Shitty’s done the same with Lardo, except she's got one hand free, flipping him off. “You fucking ready, Bits?”

“Born ready,  _ Miss Larissa. _ ” Ransom’s suddenly in front of them, waving his arm, and then he has to hold on for dear life because he's forgotten how fast Holster can run, and they're still in the rink, and  _ holy shit  _ that ceiling was low. 

They're breaking out the doors way too fast, and by this point Bitty has his face hidden in Holster’s shoulder, shaking with laughter while shielding his eyes from the cold wind. He's not even sure where Shitty and Lardo are anymore, and it doesn't really matter, at this point.

He doesn't lift his head until Holster comes to a complete stop, and now they're next to the car, almost the last ones in the parking lot. Turning, Bitty can just see Shitty over his shoulder, Lardo screaming - something in his ear. Holster sets him down gently, though, and he waves slightly, laughing as Lardo scowls. She slides off Shitty’s back the moment he stops, and while he bends over to catch his breath, she’s already halfway into the car. 

“You cheated,” she informs Bitty the moment he joins her in the back seat, and he just laughs, leans his head on her shoulder. She can’t keep her face grim, corners of her mouth twitching up even as she glares. “Fucking cute little asshole.”

He beams as he sits up, buckling into his seat as Shitty jumps in the driver’s seat, twisting his head around. “Hey, dudes, we’re picking Jack up at the doors, can he fit in the back?”

“Yeah, probably!” Holster’s climbing into shotgun, and Chowder and Ransom have finally caught up, taking the front two seats, and Bitty nods until Shitty can see him in the rearview mirror. “He might have to squeeze, though.”

Shitty shrugs, and fucking tears out of the parking space. “Sucks to be a pro hockey player, then.”

Jack’s waiting for them outside the rink, hair damp and suit coat thrown over one arm. The puck from the game suddenly feels very heavy in Bitty’s pocket, and he ducks his head as Ransom throws open the door, cheering as Jack enters the car. “The prodigal captain returns!”

Jack laughs softly, but the sound fills the whole car, even as they all follow Ransom’s lead, cheering like fucking madmen. Lardo claps him hard on the back, and Jack just rolls his eyes, folding his legs behind the middle row to fit between her and Bitty. 

“Hey, guys.” He waves awkwardly to the whole car, which gets a few more cheers. “Hey, Bittle.” He turns to his right, and it’s a little hard to breathe pinned under Jack’s gaze. “I’m glad you guys could come.”

“Man, you kidding?” Shitty shouts as he trundles down some random Providence road that may or may not be the right direction, “I’ve been trying to come to a game for months. Thanks for being a fucking enabler.”

“Always glad to help out, Shits,” Jack calls back, and it’s so easy, the car echoing with the same shitty laughs and jokes that filled the Haus last year. It makes Bitty feel at home, actually, and he relaxes into his seat, chiming in when necessary.

It takes them longer than it probably should to get to Jack’s place, even though Shitty insists time and time again that they are most certainly not lost, thank you, and does not need whatever GPS app they’re coming up with this time. They get there eventually though, and it feels a little bit like a clown car as they all force their way out, and then back into the elevator for the ride up to Jack’s floor.

Jack’s subdued when they walk into his apartment, but it’s fine - Ransom and Holster are making plenty of noise, trying to draw Chowder into a conversation about Niemi’s play on the Stars. They stop, though, when Jack comes to a halt in the entry hall, hanging his coat on a hook by the door. “I don’t really have any guest rooms,” he explains sheepishly, ducking his head, “but - there are pillows and blankets in the back closet, so just, make yourselves at home, I guess.”

Shitty steamrolls by him, returning with a mountain of bedding. “Dude,” he looks at Jack from behind the pile of blankets, “did you buy all this shit, like, recently? Did you even wash it?”

Jack glares gently, and Bitty giggles from where he’s perched on the top of the couch. “I thought ahead, all right?” Shitty just laughs, drops the pile onto the floor and lets everyone swarm it. Chowder is wrapped in a comforter before anyone else, tucking himself in against the couch. He tucks himself between Bitty’s legs and looks up with a smile, and Bitty reaches down, ruffles his hair the best he can from that angle. 

When he looks up, Jack is staring at him a little weird, head tilted as he watches. “Hey, Bittle, there’s an air mattress in the back, you wanna come help me with it?”

He hops off the back of the couch, avoiding Chowder the best he can. “Sure you want me to help? I think-”

Jack rolls his eyes, and Bitty  _ thinks  _ it’s fond - he hasn’t realized just how the distance has changed his understanding of everyone’s mannerisms.  “Yeah, I’m sure. Come on, you’re burning daylight.”

“The sun’s set!” Holster calls after them, and someone laughs, except Bitty can’t tell who it was as they round the corner further into Jack’s place. It’s nice, in the way apartments look in magazines, in that there’s clearly furniture but none of it looks lived in. He trails his fingers over one of the beautiful granite counters in the kitchen and it comes away dusty.

He has to hide his look of horror from Jack as they walk.

The closet is next to Jack’s bedroom, across from sliding glass doors that lead out onto a balcony Bitty hadn’t noticed beforehand. Jack notices him looking and laughs a little. “Yeah, my mom liked the view over the river. You wanna see?”

Jack doesn’t wait for an answer, sliding the glass doors open, grunting a bit as one sticks. It’s cold outside, but Bitty’s still in the jersey, so it’s not as bad as it could be. Jack’s still half in his suit, though, and he should look more uncomfortable, but he just steps out into the air anyways and Bitty’s helpless to do anything but follow.

They stand at the railing for a bit, just looking. He’s never been to Rhode Island, had barely travelled north of the Mason-Dixon before coming to Samwell. He’d watched out the windows a little bit when he wasn’t driving, watched as the setting had shifted around him, but there’s always something about seeing a city at night that sits heavy in his chest. 

There are a few lights, but not too many - it doesn’t seem like a place with too much nightlife. He says such to Jack, who laughs a little bit, shaking his hair back into his eyes. It’s drying now, and is a little fluffy.

“There’s some, after we win,” he promises, as if the parties in all of Rhode Island center around the team. Maybe they do. Bitty hasn’t spent enough time in Providence to know. “But it’s not - you know. It’s nice, here. The people are nice. They’re not really used to having an NHL team yet, so the people are nice.” He makes a face. “Lot of Bruins fans, though. They don’t love us.”

Bitty laughs. It’s soft, and he can see his breath rush out in front of his face as he does. “Maybe they wanted you to stay in Massachusetts.”

Jack glares at him. “Did you just imply that I, a good Montreal boy, should go play for the Bruins?”

“Maybe not,” he admits, tampering down on the giggles building in his chest. “You’re good here, though? You’re happy?”

It’s quiet, for a bit, and Bitty wonders for a few seconds if he’s overstepped. They’ve texted since Jack left, both by themselves and in the group text, but not really about anything of importance. Bitty would send him pictures of pies, of funny anecdotes from games. Jack would reply when he could, and they bounced like that, in a bubble where nothing really mattered.

“Yeah,” Jack breathes out slowly, looking off into the distance, “I’m good.”

There’s something hanging in the air now, and Bitty turns slowly, takes a seat on one of the lounge chairs behind them. He can see the start of stars as he stretches out, and keeps his eyes on the night sky, listening to Jack’s fingers drumming against the top of the railing. “What about you?” Jack asks, and it’s soft, something floating on his words that Bitty can’t really identify. “You good?”

He could talk about his classes, how the team is playing, how the new frogs are doing. He doesn’t talk about any of that.

“I miss you,” he admits softly, and it feels like he’s putting words to something that should be obvious but Jack’s breath catches in his throat anyways. Bitty can hear him stumble over his thoughts for a second before he clears his throat, comes to sit on the chair across from Bitty.

He wants an answer, but Jack seems content to lay next to him, both of their eyes trained on the sky. So Bitty settles back a little bit more, dragging his fingertips over the rough concrete next to him. 

Jack reaches down to grab his hand, then, and it’s - he thinks Jack’s going to let go, surely, was just telling him to stop moving, but instead he slowly laces their fingers together and holds on. “You should come visit more often, then.” His voice is light, but the offer hits Bitty hard. “I mean. If you get the chance. It’s what, only an hour drive, right?”

He clears his throat, suddenly very aware of the callouses on Jack’s palm. “Yeah,” he replies, “yeah. I can do that.”

Bitty can hear the smile in Jack’s voice. “Okay. Good.”

They’re quiet again, and the breeze is nice on Bitty’s face, and probably the only thing keeping his palm from getting all sweaty. But he’s not a teenager anymore, and he can handle this, and it’s actually - very nice.

Tomorrow, Bitty will wake up before everyone else and wipe the dust out of Jack’s kitchen and make it his own, if only for a morning. Tomorrow, they’ll all crowd around the dining room table that is clearly meant for far less people, shoving elbows into sides as they squeeze into folding chairs and devour mountains of food. Tomorrow, Shitty will stand on one of said folding chairs and explain everything he can remember about Festivus in explicit detail, and only have to check Wikipedia on his phone twice.

Tomorrow, Jack might even kiss Bitty goodbye.

But just then, with his hand in Jack’s on a lawn chair, with a new and strange city blinking beneath them both, Bitty doesn’t really care too much about tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/mltchmarner) | [tumblr](http://mltchmarner.tumblr.com)


End file.
